Summer on the Short Bus (6 page)

“Uh . . . yeah, I guess.”

“Bella loves Edward's eyes, too. And his lips—she's
always
kissing him.”

I'm about to ask for an intervention on the
Twilight
love fest going on at my feet, when Claire leans forward and plants a kiss squarely on Edward Cullen's scowling face. “There you go. Your knee is all better now.”

Oh. My. God. Which way to the acid bath?

“I see you've met Claire.” Rainbow appears, wearing her same jolly expression. “Let's introduce you to the rest of the crew, and then we'll play a game of kickball before dinner. Does that sound good?”

Through the eruption of cheers, animalistic yelps, and a very unexpected, “Piss! Piss, cockin' balls!” by a kid who looks like a
Big Bang Theory
extra, I begin to rethink my original opinion of this place. Circus sideshow? Hell yeah. A cult? No way. Even the most jacked-up religions have criteria for membership.

“Whatever,” I say.

Wearing a huge, stupid grin, Rainbow introduces me to the remaining campers: Six boys and four more girls ranging from thirteen to fifteen years old. At least I think that's what they said. It's tough to be sure since each of them speaks with a slur, stutter, or some other speech defect. I feign interest as best I can without gagging, but it isn't until Rainbow announces that
I'm
going to be in charge of the end-of-summer battle of the bands that I actually start to pay attention.

“I'm supposed to do
what?”

“You're going to be in charge of the show,” she says in a tone that's almost as exhausted as the expression on her face. “Your father didn't explain this to you before you got here?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but my dad explained absolutely nothing about this place. And I mean
nothing
.”

She studies my face, the creases next to her eyes deepening with every passing second. “Come with me,” she says.

I deliver a hearty eye-roll in Quinn's direction before catching up with her under a cluster of pine trees.

“Look, Cricket,” she says. “I was under the impression that you knew this was a camp for special needs kids. I'm sorry you didn't, but now that you do, I really need you to step up to the plate and pull your weight. Besides being the lead counselor for Claire and Meredith, you're going to be coordinating the battle of the bands. It's not
American Idol
or anything—each counselor puts
together a routine with their campers and then there's one big group number that you'll be in charge of—but it's a big deal to the kids and their parents.”

Besides the fact that I don't plan to be here longer than twenty-four hours, I don't know the first thing about coordinating a live show. I was a cheerleader, not a drama dork.

“How the hell could I possibly make a show out of . . . that?” I motion toward the campers.

I see her jaw bone clinch beneath her gummy complexion. “You're a smart girl,” she says after sucking in a deep breath. “You'll figure out what to do. I think once you settle in and get to know everybody, you'll find it's a lot of fun.”

“Are you kidding me? How is spending two weeks with a bunch of handicapped kids fun? I can't even understand what they're saying! This isn't fun, this is . . . it's a short bus nightmare!”

“That's enough!” she says. By the expression on her face you'd think I just popped her in the gut. “From the moment you stepped out of that car you've acted like an insolent, spoiled brat and I won't have you behaving that way around these kids. You need to get your act together or I'm going to have to call your father, and he won't be happy to hear how you've been behaving.”

It takes every ounce of self-control in my body not to laugh in her face. Why does every adult think that threatening kids with a bad report card is going to scare us into changing?

“You don't have a clue what you're talking about,” I say. I
manage to ward off the laughter, but there's no way I can stop my eyes from rolling. “My dad may have been pissed enough to send me here—but trust me, he still thinks the world revolves around me.”

“Is that so?”

Her insinuation ignites an unfamiliar response in me: the need to defend my relationship with my dad. Current nightmare aside, we get along just fine. We may not get all Dr. Phil with deep conversations, but it's always worked for us.

“Yeah,” I say. “It is. He may have sent me here to learn some kind of lesson, but he knew exactly how I'd react when I got here. And because he knows me so well, he'd also know that I have no intention of sitting back while my summer is ruined.”

This forces her to take a step back. “So what are you saying? You're thinking of leaving?”

“Obviously.”

“Oh . . . oh dear.” The anger quickly dissolves from her face and she's looking at me all hollow-cheeked and saggy, like a balloon with a slow leak. “Well, I guess you have a choice to make then. Do you want to stay or go?”

I glance over my shoulder, ignoring Quinn's quizzical stare, and take in the eleven
special
kids I'm expected to transform into Simon Cowell's next boner.

“Decision made. I'm outta here.”

SIX

I
run for what feels like hours while tears stream down my face. I fly past the bunkhouse and bathroom, hardly breaking stride when I weave my way through the narrow pathway where I met the deer. I have no concern for the thorny bushes attacking my legs, the rock in my shoe, or serial killers hiding in the shadows.

I manage to reach the bottom of the hill Quinn told me about and yank my phone from my back pocket. The display still says
NO NETWORK
. I grunt out an exhausted breath, blowing wisps of sweaty hair from my face, and look up at the steep path that winds to the top of the hill. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't even consider climbing something this high. Hell, I couldn't even make it to the top of the cheer-pyramid sophomore year. But this isn't a normal circumstance—this is about cellular salvation!

An eternity passes before I finally make it to the top. I'm too amped at the three bars showing on the display to care that I'm covered in dirt and sweating like a pig, or that there's fresh blood dripping down my right leg.

I punch number one on the speed dial before collapsing against the hard-packed earth. The faint sound of the phone ringing is so
sweet I almost start crying again.

“Oh my God!” Katie answers. “I've been trying to call you, but it keeps dumping me into voice mail. Where are you?”

“I'm in hell!” I shriek, wiping back a tear. “Handicapped hell!”

“You're where? Wait . . . what?”

“I'm at a camp for handicapped kids in Michigan! I had to climb a freaking mountain just to call you!”

“Oh my God! You've
got
to be kidding me.”

“I swear to God,” I say, rolling onto my back.

“Oh, this is epic, Crick. Seriously. You're hanging out with a bunch of 'tards instead of hitting the beach—are you like totally ready to hang yourself ?”

“Obviously!” Growing frustrated with this pointless back and forth, I cut to the chase. “We have to figure out how to get me out of here, Katie.”

“. . . Okay.”

“Well?”

“Well what? What do you expect me to do? I'm leaving for Maui in the morning, in case you forgot. I haven't packed a thing.”

“How could I forget? I was supposed to go with you!”

“Oh my God, I almost forgot. Remember that suede Burberry bag, the yellow sling back with the metallic studs? My mom got it for me for the trip—”

“Are you kidding me right now? I don't give a shit about metallic studs, Katie. I need to get out of here!”

“Okay, okay. God, chill. What do you want me to do?”

“Talk to your dad. They have to be breaking some laws by holding me here against my will. I'm practically a hostage. Maybe he can call the director and scare her with some of his legal talk.”

“Dude, your dad did this. It's not like we can file an Amber Alert when your own parent is the one who ditched you.” I have to grind my teeth to keep from screaming. Of all the times for my best friend to go traitor on me.
“Your
dad is your ticket out of there, Crick. Not mine.”

I heave a deep breath.

“I know,” I say reluctantly. “But I don't see how I'm going to convince him.”

“He'll cave.”

“I'm not so sure. I've never seen him like that before, Katie. He was just so . . .”

“Pissed? So what. Parents are always pissed at their kids.”

Actually, I was going to say disappointed.

“Cricket, this is your dad we're talking about. The same guy who bought you a brand-new car a week after you totaled the first one. The same man who grounded you for a month only to renege on it two days later because you started to cry. Do you honestly think he's going to leave you to rot in the woods for two whole weeks?”

“I don't know . . .”

“He's not going to. As soon as he gets back from his trip, he'll come and get you. He's just trying to make a point.”

I'm not fully convinced, but I agree anyway.

“When does he get home?”

I do a quick mental count of Dad's travel schedule. “Oh my God . . . that's eight days! There's no way I can do eight days of this.”

“Oh please,” she says, doing little to hide the are-you-done-yet in her voice. “Are you telling me there's absolutely nothing there that can occupy your time for a week?”

I'm just about to respond, “Have you even been listening to me?” when out of nowhere, a familiar silhouette approaches me through the setting sun. His stride is so easy and confident I can't help but smile.

“Now that you mention it, there is something here that could be a good distraction.”

“Ooh, I know that voice. How hot is he?”

“Very,”
I say cautiously, as Quinn is now a few feet away from me. I shield my eyes with my hand to look up at him, nearly melting at the grin he fires back. “Call me when you get to Maui. Hopefully I'll have some news to report.” I power down before Katie can dive into one of her diatribes about the importance of dating a guy who is good-looking but not better-looking than you (she reads a lot of
Cosmo)
and stare up at my visitor.

“I thought I might find you up here. Can I sit?”

“Sure.”

He sets a paper sack down on the ground before settling in
beside me. At least a foot separates us, but I can still feel the warmth from his body.

“Not bad, huh?”

By the motion of his head I know he's referring to the view of the darkening valley below us, but I can't take my eyes off him. “Not bad at all,” I say.

“So it sounds like you were able to find some coverage. Is your friend surviving without you?”

“Oh yeah. It turns out a trip to Maui is all she needs to get over me being gone. I was supposed to go with her, you know.”

“Really? I've never been. Is it as nice as they say?”

“I guess it depends on who
they
are. My dad thinks it's overrated—he prefers more exotic locations, but I love it. White sands, warm water . . . it's like taking a bath all day.”

“Sounds like paradise.”

“Yeah.”

“Definitely not like western Michigan.”

“Exactly. Oh no, I didn't mean . . .”

“I'm just kidding,” he says with a laugh, leaning into my arm. “I'd rather be in Hawaii than here, too. Well, not
here
per se, but anyway . . . Rainbow said you were thinking about leaving?”

“No!” My immediate answer surprises us both. “I mean, I don't think I could even if I wanted to.” Not for the next eight days, anyway. “My dad's out of the country and he's the only person that could do anything about it. I think I'm just going to have to suck it
up for a while.”